Prometheus Wakens - 10. Chapter 10:Mars--Tactical Planning

Chapter 10: Mars—Tactical Planning

I looked at the boy’s straight, blue-black hair, round face, and epicanthic folds, and was puzzled when he said he was Magnolia grandiflora, for I knew the magnolia as the “state tree” of several southern states in which I’d lived, including Mississippi and Alabama. He saw my puzzlement, and giggled.

“They said you’d not understand,” he said. “My tree is native to both the southern United States—or what will become that country in this reality—and to the country you call China. I am told that continental drift through tectonic plate movement separated China and the United States aeons ago. Perhaps you will explain to me what that means, someday.

“Not at the moment, however, for I have prepared a breakfast that you might find in China—except there is coffee instead of tea. I hope you will like it.”

His predecessor, Pawpaw, after a deep kiss that sealed our night together, had vanished moments before. I still didn’t know how they decided who would stay for breakfast with the next day’s dryad, and who wouldn’t. I suspected they’d do whatever I asked, but since I had no reason to ask, I felt it better to give them their heads in this.

I crossed the patio (as I usually did; most of the boys were much too shy to approach me on our first encounter), hugged him, and said, “Be welcome, Magnolia, and I am sure I will enjoy whatever you have prepared. Thank you.”

Breakfast was a hot, clear soup into which Magnolia poured fresh, beaten eggs so that they cooked in the liquid; brown rice; steamed vegetables; and slivers of raw fish. The table was set with both a fork and chopsticks, and I encouraged Magnolia to show me how to use the chopsticks amid much laughter from both of us. It was so very, very good to be able to act like a kid sometimes, and not to have to pretend!

Magnolia was conversant with the ledger of coffees, and we talked about the selection of the day. “This is not one of the best roasts,” he said. “But the plants are especially hardy, and can withstand drought better than most. The bean is preserved for that reason. Because it is not one of the best beans, it is usually roasted very lightly. Still, it tends to be bitter.”

I indicated that I understood, and made a mental note to review all “not so good” but “essential” roasts. Are there similar varieties among the olives and grapevines?

I had thought, when I first woke, that my life was going to be simple.

Mars was expected at mid-morning, so Magnolia and I stayed on the patio, reviewing my stacks of notes, until Mars arrived. He was, again, in the persona of a teen, as was I, and we exchanged a good-morning kiss before moving to the conference room. Magnolia followed with coffee—a different and more palatable roast, this time. Mars began the discussion.

“Athena recommends, and I agree: a quick strike at a critical target, and then an assessment of the damage. We will prepare to attack other, similar targets in quick sequence if the first one works.

“There is an additional challenge, however.” I explained that we would be striking to destroy a drug laboratory with some collateral damage to a transportation node; but that we would first have to rescue the children who were enslaved in the laboratory.

Mars’ eyes seemed to glow. His smile widened. “I like that,” he said.

“Athena has offered to create what she called a strategic target list of drug laboratories. She will prioritize the list based on the importance of the laboratory and its location vis-à-vis transportation network nodes,” I said.

Mars nodded. “I will use the list to select the first target.”

I must have looked puzzled, for he added, “In addition to importance, I will look at tactical considerations. A laboratory in the middle of a military base would be harder to attack than one in the jungles. I’ll take factors such as defenses, our avenues of approach, size, and likely difficulty into account.”

I do have some wonderful allies, I thought. And smiled broadly.

He laughed, “Oh, Lucas, the expression on your face!” He leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. “I am so happy to be working with you and Athena.”

Then, he sat back, and blushed. “I hope I wasn’t froward!”

“Oh, no,” I said. I touched his hand. “I’m so happy to be working with you all.” I pushed aside what else I was feeling for the urgency of the moment.

“There is, however, a problem with which I need help and advice,” I said. “The dryads want to become soldiers in this war. They want to have uniforms, wear armor, and carry weapons. It is however, too soon, too early. There is not time for them to receive the training they would need.” They’re hundreds, perhaps thousands of years old. They have probably known war. Still, they are my responsibility, and I don’t know how to deal with that.

I turned to the dryad sitting at the table with us. “Magnolia, I know you and the boys share all you know. Please share this with them: I know that you want to be part of this. I know that many of you want to be soldiers. I thank you for your enthusiasm and your loyalty. You may be tried in a crucible, but I will not allow you to go into danger unprepared. This is because I love you all, and have promised to protect you.”

Magnolia was silent and still for a moment. Then, I saw tears form at the corners of his eyes, and run down his cheeks. He shivered, and then smiled.

“They understand, Lucas, and they send their love to you.”

Mars declined my offer of lunch, and said that he’d think on the role of the dryads. I was content with that.

A quick kiss, chaste as before, and Mars vanished.

It did not surprise me that the lighting panels in the house responded to my thoughts. I was, after all, the avatar of the guy who had given fire to humankind. When one of the boys and I were enjoying sex with one another, I always had the lights on, at least a little. On this night, I brightened them to near daylight to allow me to see and appreciate Magnolia’s unique beauty.

His hair was black, which was not unusual for a person from the Orient. [Yes, I still used that Eurocentric term, even though this Europe hadn’t yet begun to use it.] On the other hand, Magnolia’s hair did not have the hidden blue highlights I had thought to associate with Oriental hair. Rather, there was a deep, shiny green that came out only in the strongest light: it was the dark green of the mature magnolia leaf.

His eyes were the dusty golden brown of the underside of the leaf. His lips were the bright red of the mature seeds of his tree and his skin, his skin was the smooth satin of the magnolia flower—white tempered by the brown and pink that often appeared at the base of a petal.

“Magnolia, you are so beautiful,” I whispered, and watched as the color of his porcelain skin reddened.

I felt him think: “I’ll bet you say that to all the dryads.” Then I felt him understand that this thought was too flippant, and heard him say, simply, “Thank you, Lucas. Thank you for believing I am beautiful. I find you, too, to be beautiful, as are my brothers.”

“You are all beautiful, in your own way,” I said. “I know you share your thoughts and experiences. I hope you will share that with the others.”

“I will, Lucas,” he said. “Actually, I already have. And they all say thank you and agree that you, too, are beautiful.”

I caressed his skin with my fingers, and watched his reaction. I quickly found the places that aroused him the most, causing his eyes to flutter, his tummy to quiver, his breath to catch briefly in his throat, or his penis to throb. I concentrated on the latter places with fingers and lips and, just before he reached his peak, dropped my mouth on his penis and drank his sweetness.

I would have been content to hold him, to cuddle, but he wanted more. I felt not only his gentle touch, but the feelings of other dryads as he brought me to climax. We are, indeed, becoming one, I thought. Yet we remain unique. It was something else for me to ponder.

Magnolia woke me before full dawn. “Visitor for breakfast, today,” he said. “Death will be here, soon.”

Early warning system? Or did he leave a voice mail . . . My thoughts were a little confused, but only for a moment. “Breakfast meeting?” I asked.

Magnolia nodded.

I was neither afraid nor worried about having Death as a guest, even a breakfast guest, but Magnolia worried enough for both of us. He insisted on scrubbing me in the shower, declined overtures to enjoy sex, inspected my tunic, carefully, and checked the table setting with a critical eye. I was more concerned about the feelings of the day’s dryad, a youngish Oak, who felt Magnolia was butting in where he shouldn’t. I took both boys’ hands, and assured them everything was just fine, and asked them to relax.

Death appeared without fanfare at the edge of the patio. He was not skeletal, nor was he dressed in black robes. In fact, he wore clothing with which I felt familiar: slacks and a pullover shirt. I thought it odd that he wore wire-framed aviator’s glasses, until I saw them darken in the sunlight, and lighten in the shade. Sunglasses, I thought. Technology from my reality. I knew then that Death had already defied Zeus’ stricture against travel there.

Oak and Magnolia knelt while I approached Death with my right hand extended.

“Welcome, Death” I said. “Please join us for breakfast. Will you sit?”

“Thank you, Lucas.” He chuckled. “It is not often that I am welcomed, save by the infirm or the broken-hearted.

“I understand you rescued one of the latter, not long ago,” he added.

I knew he meant Whittaker.

By this time, we were seated and the boys were pouring coffee. Oak had selected a dark roast of a coffee normally only grown in East Africa. It had become my favorite.

“I hope I did nothing wrong,” I said. “Only now when you spoke did I realize that I reacted only to the boy’s pain . . .”

“We are not in competition, Lucas. And this is excellent coffee. Will you call me George? It’s a name given to an avatar in another reality, and one I’ve come to like.”

We chatted, for a while about the coffee. After the boys poured our second cup, I told them. “I would like complete privacy, until I call for you. Please tell all the dryads who surround the house or are within earshot.”

I don’t know if they looked frightened or disappointed, but I added, “This is not a matter of trust, for I trust you all completely.”

That they believed me became apparent when their smiles brightened; I did not need the confirmation from their thoughts.

“George, you know that I’m new to this divine stuff, to the powers I’ve been given, and to the responsibilities that seem to increase, daily.

“I have a list of things I need to do, and of things I need to learn. One very important thing on that list is this: what happens to my boys if they are killed?”

Death drew back. He seemed to be a bit nonplussed, and didn’t reply right away. “It would help me understand,” he said slowly, as if thinking about my question—or if needing time to think, “if I knew the circumstances under which they might be killed.”

I described the mission I believe I had, to close drug factories, to rescue children, to fight the evil of the Fundamentalists, and to expand that battle as required. “The boys overheard me talking with Mars, and they’re very excited about what their role will be, what sort of armor and weapons they will have. I’ve been told that they are invulnerable to all save fire unless their tree is destroyed. I have not been able completely to accept this, and must assume that even if it is true, some of them may die.”

Death nodded, and drained his coffee cup. I poured it full, again, giving us both time to think.

“The dryads,” he said, “as all demi-gods, will go to the same place everyone goes. Except those gods who elect to leave this universe, everyone who dies goes to the underworld, ruled by Pluto, until they are called to return.”

“Return?”

“Yes, although their new life may be quite different.”

“How is it decided? Do people have memories of past lives?” I blurted the most obvious questions.

“No. Well, not while they’re alive,” Death said, addressing my second question. “While in the domain of Pluto, people have access to all—rather, many of—their memories, but all are reborn as a blank slate.”

“That’s not intuitive,” I said, even though at this moment I realized that was almost exactly what had happened to me.

“No, it is not,” Death said. “It’s one of the few mysteries involving life and death that are not revealed to me. Nor do I know how it is decided what a person’s next life will be—not even the reality in which it will be. Perhaps with the powers of a titan . . . ?”

I shook my head. “I know absolutely nothing of what you speak; but, if I learn anything, I’ll certainly tell you what I may.

“I seem to be something of an exception,” I added. “I remember a great deal about my world, but little about myself. However, a few things seem to be creeping back into my memory.”

Death—George—questioned me about that, but neither of us was able to draw any conclusions. However, what he had said about the dryads gave me a great deal of comfort even as it raised questions. I called the boys back, asked that they bring breakfast, and then remain at table with us.

During breakfast George and I, and the boys, spoke lightly of happier things than death. George asked the boys about their trees, which made them feel quite special, I think. After the meal, he stood.

“Thank you, Lucas, for your hospitality. I have made my decision to stand with you in this matter. I am very much constrained by the nature of my Authorities, but will ponder how I might help.”

I shook his hand. “I understand, and appreciate what you have said. Do the boys know how to reach you? We’re doing a new roast of that coffee, and I’d like your opinion.”

Magnolia had departed, and the little Oak assured me that he was “of age,” and—as if he weren’t sure how I would interpret that—showed me his tree, a stately monster a few tens of yards from the house. Some of his branches bent to touch the ground before rising again.

“Your tree, like you, is beautiful, but seems to be much older than you,” I said.

“This was my appearance when I first became aware,” he said. “I have not changed, although my tree has. You see the small one, just over there?” He pointed to an immature oak, perhaps six feet high, a dozen yards beyond the fall line of his tree.

“That is my new tree,” he said. “This tree will, in a few decades, need to return to the air and the soil. By then, the new tree will be large and old enough for me to inhabit.”

“When you first became aware?” I repeated his words as a question.

“Yes. I was standing by this tree, which was much, much younger, then. I remembered being somewhere else, but that memory slipped away. Then, there were boys around me, and I knew them to be my brothers. They welcomed me, and taught me what I needed to know.”

That answered one of my questions: where do new Dryads come from: they’re the souls of boys brought from the realm of Pluto to live again. Unlike mortals, however, they were not born as infants.

“I would like to share with you,” he said, “some of what they taught me.”

I knew he didn’t mean how to live in a tree, so I took his hand, and led him back to the house. Actually, he was so eager, I’m not sure that it was I, and not he, who was leading.

It was still mid-morning, but Oak pulled me into the bedroom. He whirled around, stood on tiptoe, and kissed me.

Oh, yes. The others had taught him well. His kiss moved from chaste to utterly sensual and then beyond even that. I thought I was going to explode before we pulled off our tunics and tumbled onto the bed. He pulled me to him, and I plunged deeply into him. His heels pressed my buttocks as I strained to go even farther. His eyes widened, and I felt his heat spurting between us. He wanted to feel my heat inside him, and I was ready to oblige.

Afterwards, we cuddled, face to face, legs twined, arms around one another, and kissed, and kissed, and breathed one another’s breath. After-play is almost as good as fore-play, I thought. However . . .

“Oak? Aren’t there things we should be doing?” I whispered.

“Mmm, hmm,” he replied. I think he meant yes.

I propped myself onto my elbow and looked at him. “I meant in the groves, or perhaps planning for this war. Maybe inviting allies over to talk.”

“Oh, pooh!” Oak said, and then grinned. “You are right, of course.”

Apollo and Demeter had suggested that Hermes would be receptive to an invitation to join the battle. “He’s the messenger of all the gods,” Demeter said. “And would offer at least to extend the same courtesy and service to you.”

“The dryads can contact anyone, can’t they?” I asked. “In this or another reality. I don’t know what Hermes could do for us.”

Apollo laughed. “He’s not just the messenger of the gods. In your reality, he’s a silent partner in two express package delivery services and an internet—what do they call those things?” He looked at Demeter.

“It’s a social networking site,” she said. “Oh, yes. He’s defying Zeus, but remember that he’s a silent partner. It’s not something to be bandied about too freely.”

So, I asked little Oak to invite Hermes to visit. Hermes’ reply came instantly, delivered by a messenger.

I couldn’t at first say what the messenger reminded me of, and then remembered a bronze figurine—I think it was by Frederick Remington—of a pony express rider from the American West. I shook my head in disbelief at the anachronism, but thanked the boy for the letter he handed me before disappearing.

Hermes would arrive immediately, if that were convenient.

“Oak? Please let Hermes know . . .”

Wasn’t necessary. I heard footsteps in the gravel of the path, and recognized Hermes—also known as Mercury. He wore a tunic, unlike the popular figure of my culture who appeared naked, but he also wore the winged helmet and sandals. He appeared to be about fifteen years old.

“Hermes, be welcome,” I said. “Would you take refreshment?”

He accepted. Oak brought a tray with coffee, nectar, wine, and water, as well as the appropriate cups and glasses, cream and sugar.

I noticed that Hermes eschewed the nectar for coffee, and asked.

“Nectar.” He shuddered. “Nasty stuff. I don’t think anyone would drink it except that Zeus has said it was reserved for the gods. I know a couple who actually like it, but it’s an acquired taste, and one I’ve never acquired. Ambrosia, on the other hand, I like that.”

“Ambrosia? I don’t think I’ve had that,” I said. “Oak?”

“It’s just orange or grapefruit sections with cocoanut sprinkled on them,” he said. “It’s been on your breakfast table, I’m sure.”

I remembered, then—the smell of oranges and cocoanut that had haunted me from the first day I became aware in this reality.

Hermes startled me with his candor. “The package delivery services are important links in the drug distribution chain,” he said. “Not between countries, because the USA Drug Enforcement Administration employs specially trained dogs and electronic sniffers at ports of entry—not just in the USA, but throughout the world—and it’s hard to get past them. However, once the drugs reach a country, the shipment is often broken into parcels which are shipped through the two biggest shippers, United Express and Federal Parcel Service.”

“You know? And you—” I stopped before I put my foot too far into my mouth.

“I know,” Hermes said, “and I try to . . . ”

I gave him time to think.

“I’m not entirely sure what I try to do,” he said. “I’m trying to balance, if that makes sense. If I lose too many shipments, they’ll stop using the service, and I’ll be able to stop none of them. If too many shippers or receivers are arrested, they’ll stop using the service, and no one will be arrested.”

“Have you spoken to Athena?” I asked.

“Athena? Why?” Hermes said.

“Strategic planning,” I said, and then grinned. “I think she might have some suggestions. And, I would certainly be happy to help put them into effect.”

Hermes and I talked about his operations and his concerns. He agreed to contact Athena, and said that he’d offer me the same delivery and messenger services provided to the gods.

Hermes declined my offer of lunch, but agreed to visit, again sometime soon. Oak and I enjoyed sandwiches and iced coffee, after which he and Eldest Ginkgo took me on a tour of the vineyards.

After supper, and despite our earlier liaison, both Oak and I were eager. I made it clear that I would bottom for him; however, he made it clear that he preferred fellatio. His silky skin was so unlike the bark of his tree, and the silkiest part was the tip of his penis. I was examining it before taking it into my mouth when I had an epiphany. They’re all circumcised! I thought. Now why would that be?